Ashes
Through the fire.
From death, life.
From ashes, beauty.
From destruction, growth.
“Why?” is the easier question, but how often do I miss the good that’s ahead by looking for a rationale for the past?
We spent the weekend in the fire-ravaged hills of Ojai. My husband's friend lost his dad and so we drove up for the memorial, to hold space, to be whatever was needed.
The scars from the fires are deep. Trees turned to charcoal. Orchards and fields stripped bare. And yet, the hills are rich with color. Bright purple, brilliant orange, neon yellow. Acres of wild flowers, springing up from scorched earth.
I don't know how to take in the beauty. I can't comprehend how such destruction is necessary. But it is. Old growth must be pruned away to let new life in. This system of death and life works.
The fire hurts and it's mean and it's ugly and it destroys.
After the fire, through the fire, something new springs forth.
May it be so in my life too.
From death, life.
From ashes, beauty.
From destruction, growth.
“Why?” is the easier question, but how often do I miss the good that’s ahead by looking for a rationale for the past?
We spent the weekend in the fire-ravaged hills of Ojai. My husband's friend lost his dad and so we drove up for the memorial, to hold space, to be whatever was needed.
The scars from the fires are deep. Trees turned to charcoal. Orchards and fields stripped bare. And yet, the hills are rich with color. Bright purple, brilliant orange, neon yellow. Acres of wild flowers, springing up from scorched earth.
I don't know how to take in the beauty. I can't comprehend how such destruction is necessary. But it is. Old growth must be pruned away to let new life in. This system of death and life works.
The fire hurts and it's mean and it's ugly and it destroys.
After the fire, through the fire, something new springs forth.
May it be so in my life too.
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